


Maladaptive Daydreaming

by BarkingPup



Category: Original Work
Genre: But I promise my best on short notice, Gen, I don't promise amazing, I just followed writing prompts, Probably from tumblr, Random shiznitt, So yeah, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarkingPup/pseuds/BarkingPup
Summary: Prompts I receive in various places all stuffed together into one story. Intact except for grammar and spelling issues (still writing on this phone).





	1. Heat

Prompt:

"Time is directly proportional to temperature. Time moves slower where it's cold. Time moves faster where it's warm." 

 

~ writing-prompt-s on tumblr

 

They used children. The fresh faced young, still squishy with baby fat, decked out in shorts and t-shirts, wearing elbow length over sized gloves. They were raised in a year on stories of the desert, of the sacred duty they were to be tasked with. The teens and the adults, wind scored and tanned, spoke reverently of their day in the blistering sun, taking the toddlers down to the cool catacombs beneath the temple where rows upon rows of black bags lay on the stone.  
  
“This is where they wait for their families, the ice is to keep them as fresh as possible.”  
  
“What if they don’t have a family?”  
  
And there would always be one who asked such a question. Having no families themselves yet told that each one had people waiting for them, colder away, tended to make one think. So the teens and the adults would smile and say.  
  
“We become their family.”  
  
And they would take them to the graveyard, the rows of weather beaten stone in perfect lines as far as the eye could see.  
  
“For no one should be without a family,” they say. “It’s why we do our duty before we go to the great ice box in the sky. There must always be a family here in the temple.”  
  
And when they grow old enough they are given their gloves and their kits, their scriptures and their duty, and they walk into the desert. To where the dunes are taller than the temple, the shifting sands a treacherous path, and the dead lay still. The path has been marked with meticulously placed columns, their temples territory a circle of stone and rope. They can see, peaking through a break in the mountains of sand, another set of columns and the movements of other children. There is no time to dawdle, their bodies are changing quickly. Their oversized clothing shrinks and they chant their prayers, voices breaking as they swell and sweat and stretch. They work together to pull the newly dead from the sand, tying their ropes as they were taught. The bones exposed from the shifting sands are gathered into cloth bags, trinkets and clothes placed within then tied and slung onto their aching backs. The columns are inspected, the boxes pulled and any notes or items found are added to their bags. Each prepubescent is given an intact body, wrapped in cloth, to drag behind them as they march through the setting sun.  
  
As teenagers they return to the temple, greeted by solemn elders who relieve them of their burdens. Their teachers, cradling the new generation, smile at them proudly as the adults come forth with new robes. They are led away to be bathed and anointed, to join the older generation and tell their stories of the day they went to the desert. The day they helped other families and their own find the ones who could not bear this fast paced life.  
  
The day they went out as children.  
  
And came back as (wo)men.


	2. End of the World

Prompt:

The planet is in complete chaos, all sense of society and economy completely destroyed. You are the last billionaire on earth with nothing to spend your money on. 

~ from a group on Facebook

 

We didn't discover alien life, it discovered us. We had thought small, even in our most creative we were so narcissistic. There is always a predator, and always a prey. We just never thought an entire *world* could be consumed. Destroyed. That a single parasitic creature could simply devour all things.

I hadn't thought much of dying plants. The reports of a mysterious black blight crawling across the rainforests of Africa had seemed so far away. İt wasn't airborne. İt simply engulfed animals. İt couldn't be separated. İt seemed that our science had it in hand, the quarantine set up, and it had no possibility of spreading too far. İt was only when the town's sank into darkness, when the videos of people touching it and seeing the black spread *through* them, crawling under their skin and bursting through their screaming mouths, when pictures of black, barren wastelands began to surface that we grew worried. I had privilege. I had money. I decided to barricade myself, surrounded by food, surely about to survive the coming apocalypse.

Many left, convinced it was trapped between oceans. The governments sent out armies to quarantine entire towns, forests, countries. Some shot those who tried to escape, terrified of catching the Darkness. Others allowed evacuation. Some burned. Others gassed. All to destroy something that just. Wouldn't. Die.

İt appeared elsewhere. Faster. Spreading rapidly as if gaining momentum. İt was a parasite, they said. Unknown in nature. An alien. The source probably rooted deep inside the very earth we stood on.

"Will it ever stop?"

  
"İs it sentient?"

  
"Can we do something about it?"

They had no answers.

Cities fell silent. Skyscrapers graffitied in black tendrils as they searched for more living things. İn front, humans and plants and animals fighting over what little was left. Behind, nothing save the oozing darkness that ate all it touched.

I sit here now. Awaiting the end. At the top of my greatest accomplishment. My very own business. My very own skyscraper. My very own office. I wanted windows, to look over the city I loved, to see the ocean I had grown up by. The sun is setting now. The smoke from the makeshift fires down below make it hazy.

I can hear someone pouding on one of the stairwell doors. People have been trying to get inside the tallest tower all day. I'm not certain what they're hoping to find. Some cans forgotten? Something to burn for warmth? They won't get in, I custom ordered those things. Nothing short of a tank is knocking them open.

The ocean begins to ink.

Creeping towards the shoreline. The veins run up the sandy beaches, through rocky cliffs and tiny buildings on the boardwalk.

The ink spreads.

The ocean is black.

İt spreads down the streets, crashing against buildings and climbing through infrastructure for life. The trees turn dark. Wither. Dessicate. Until nothing remains but the black husk that collapses into the main body.

People are running. Jumping out of windows. Dragging long dead loved ones down the tarmac. They climb on top of vehicles. Huddle on the roofs of buildings.

They are found.

They are eaten.

They are nothing.

I can see the darkness coming now. Climbing the windows of my legacy. The pounding on the door is quiet.

The sun has set.


	3. Marriage

Prompt:

Anyone not married by age 25 gets a spouse assigned to them by the government. You are fine with that: most matches are a success and it’s less effort for you. But it’s your wedding day and you’ve just met your match. You cannot imagine how this was the person they chose for you…..!

~writing-prompt-s on tumblr

 

You came to the wedding hopeful and optimistic, you left confused and devestated. Alone in your shared house you went on blogs and groups and email lists. Asking why Why WHY?! You read the stories the government didn’t want you to know; of abuse and hatred and suicide. You read the stories that were close to what they wanted you to hear; of hope and love and compassion. People posted questions on algorithms and census and at what age they chose.   
  
You added your story.   
  
People didn’t believe you. Called you a list, a fraud. You posted picture after picture of your wedding and your home and yet they still mocked you. In between the anger was supporters, and you clung to those small positives in an environment that seemed to drown in hatred.   
  
You shut all your accounts down when word spread and you began receiving death threats. You felt like you had to… but it made you alone. A single person. In a quiet house.   
  
You tried to get a job, to banish the feelings that tickled across your brain in the dark of your room. They asked your age. They asked for your marriage license. They saw the restrictions and asked why you even bothered if you knew it wouldn’t work out. You begged. You pleaded. You cried and you raged. You spent the night in a cell, numb. Then went home and drank and cried into your pillows.   
  
The days dragged on. You stared at the cheery laminated license, the face staring back at you a stranger. Happy, excited, about to meet their lifelong partner for the first time. The words “Kept Spouse” echoed in your brain, once an exciting prospect, now a nightmare. To be loved and provided for, to be given everything you wanted, to be home and take care of the house. You remember the tests and your answers. You wondered if you had known… would you have changed them?   
  
And yet…   
  
The staring. The silence. The independence.   
  
Was it not all you wanted?   
  
You… asked for this, didn’t you?   
  
Slowly, you cleaned the messes, polished the countertops, filled the fridge. You returned to the internet, avoiding the forums who had mocked you. You showered, got up, and drew again. People on your blog praised your new anatomy skills, asking if your spouse was your inspiration.   
  
And…   
  
The pictures flowed. You ordered your groceries and tried to cook meals you’d never even heard of. You talked to your friends over Skype and messages everyone daily. You took selfies and stupid pictures, got several cats and named them after anime characters. You bought a new computer, a new tablet, and ordered takeout. You sent your first comic to be published and sweated over the mail for weeks afterwards. You talked aloud, laughed at your own jokes, and sang to your songs.   
  
Eventually, your new spouse made an appearance. İn the background on a chair. Sitting at the table. Posing. Wearing random clothes you picked out. People asked and wondered and still called you a liar but… it didn’t seem so bad anymore. You felt… happy.   
  
A year later, you wonder at all that has happened. Turning 26, finally publishing something, getting actually married. You place your brush on the dresser and smooth down your shirt. You’re not usually a fancy person but today is a special day. You have no idea how to apply makeup or do your hair but you’ve brushed your mess and put on your best blouse and jeans. The table is set for two, steak and potatoes because you wanted something simple but still gourmet. You smile.   
  
“Okay! Time for the selfie!”   
  
You wrap your arm around your spouse and press your cheek, adjusting the camera aaaand… click!   
  
You upload and post.   
  
*First Year Anniversary with my SO*  
  
The picture is you, grinning with your hair tumbling down your shoulders. Arm wrapped around a well dressed, well preserved human skeleton, the wires holding the bones in place barely visible in the candlelight.


End file.
